


Pull me in, begin

by deepestbluest



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blind Characters, Blind Senju Tobirama, Blind Uchiha Madara, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25190371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestbluest/pseuds/deepestbluest
Summary: “Coffee’s here, Madara,” Hashirama says as he sits down at their table. “And your sandwich.”Madara holds out his hands expectantly, and Hashirama passes him his lunch. The coffee cup is bigger than it usually is- Hashirama must be in a good mood if he's surprising Madara with extra caffeine- and Madara gladly sets the sandwich aside in favor of taking a sip.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara, Uchiha Izuna & Uchiha Madara
Comments: 32
Kudos: 175





	Pull me in, begin

**Author's Note:**

> The title is paraphrased from "holy terrain" by FKA Twigs

“Coffee’s here, Madara,” Hashirama says as he sits down at their table. “And your sandwich.”

Madara holds out his hands expectantly, and Hashirama passes him his lunch. The coffee cup is bigger than it usually is- Hashirama must be in a good mood if he's surprising Madara with extra caffeine- and Madara gladly sets the sandwich aside in favor of taking a sip.

It's hot and strong, and Madara sighs in relief. The headache he's been nursing since he met with a corporate client first thing that morning already begins to ease.

“Good?” Hashirama asks.

Madara nods. “As always. Finding this place might be your greatest accomplishment, Hashirama.”

“Greater than convincing my best friend to stay with me in the big city after he passed the bar even though he said I’m an idiot for thinking he’d want to?”

“Much greater,” Madara assures him. “And I didn't say you were an idiot. I said you were being one. You aren't stupid; you just dream too big sometimes. I'm sure Tobirama tells you the same thing.”

Hashirama's laugh is loud and pleased. “So this is the rare common ground between the two of you.”

Madara huffs but takes a bite of his sandwich rather than encourage Hashirama to continue finding commonalities between Madara and Tobirama.

Across from him, no doubt drinking a cup of the homemade green tea he keeps trying to convert Madara to drinking, Hashirama is humming with energy. It must be an important day; he always gets more excitable when something big is happening.

He's wearing that new aftershave he's so fond of, too. Madara has endured years of Hashirama’s experimentation, from the days when they both thought Axe was the key to success to Hashirama's cologne of the day stage, to his final decision to commit to one scent that only changes periodically. Madara would have been content if Hashirama had stuck with the last one. It hadn't been to Madara’s taste, but he hadn't hated it.

In some ways, that had been a boon.

The new one smells incredible. Hashirama had come over to Madara's apartment for a third opinion- Tobirama gets to be the second opinion, which Madara chooses to think of as Tobirama having to weed out the worst picks- and Madara hadn’t wanted him to leave.

More than usual, he hadn't wanted Hashirama to leave.

“Uzushio agreed to the merger, huh?” he asks between bites. “You'll be able to offer even better security.”

“We will! Tobirama had hoped he'd have something to rival them, but cybersecurity really isn't his field and he's spread too thin as it is.”

Sometimes, Madara has difficulty remembering this man is the same person who, when they were boys, Madara threatened to drown in the river outside town. Hashirama is still a dreamer, but his optimism is tempered by experience now. 

“Try not to embarrass this owner like you did the last one,” Madara advises. “Izuna described the pictures to me. Really, Hashirama. Lifting a little old man in the air? That wasn't a hug. That was an attack.”

“It was a good day, and he promised he didn't mind!” Hashirama protests.

“I'm sure he did. It's safer not to incur the wrath of the giant who just publicly swung you around like a child.”

Hashirama groans, and Madara smiles to himself as he takes another sip of his coffee. He can't see Hashirama sulking anymore, but the changes in Hashirama’s moods are tangible.

Ten-year-old Hashirama hasn't disappeared completely.

“Well, at least your brother didn't try to kill him.”

“That was an accident, and it happened years ago! If Izuna hadn't surprised him, Tobirama wouldn't have thrown the stapler. It’s not like my brother makes a habit of throwing things,” Hashirama mutters.

Because Tobirama is blind, he means, which is a good reason, but Madara is also blind. He knows Hashirama's brothers almost as well as he knows Hashirama. For as long as Madara has known him, Tobirama has been the most agile person in any given room.

Madara never got the hang of echolocation, but Tobirama could have and simply chosen not to tell anyone.

Shaking his head, Madara finishes the last bite of his sandwich.

Hashirama gives him a wet wipe without being asked.

“You give your little brother too little credit," Madara says as he cleans up. "He’ll be inventing ways to inconvenience my family from the afterlife. Mark my words.”

Hashirama whines at him again, and Madara spends the rest of his lunch break sipping his coffee and enjoying Hashirama’s recounting of his brother’s latest criticism of Hashirama’s conduct as CEO.

“He's so emphatic that I shouldn't be friendly,” Hashirama sighs at one point. “I don't understand it.”

By the time their lunch is over, Madara has been cured of the headache he’s been fighting since he realized he was going to have to brush up on family law for the pro bono case he accepted from Legal Aid. Even if Hashirama did spend too long talking about cloud security and the logistics of software updates, it was nice to sit with him.

“Oh, the shop got really crowded while we were eating,” Hashirama observes. “Do you want to stick together?"

Madara nods as he gets to his feet, cane in hand. “You know, you're so big, I could probably just walk behind you.”

“I'm not that big, am I?” Hashirama asks, pained.

“You're gigantic.”

Madara doesn't fight a smile as Hashirama sighs heavily.

“Well, I don't want you to be stuck walking behind me- unless you'd rather do it that way?”

“No, next to you is fine.”

Hashirama curls his hand around Madara’s arm. “Sideways will be easier, I think. Oh, no.”

“What?”

“A school bus just pulled up. Children are getting out. We need to move or I’ll be late and Tobirama will yell at me.”

“So why are you waiting?” Madara demands.

He feels the joke before Hashirama makes it.

“I don't suppose I could carry you-”

Madara isn't short, but Hashirama has been fond of this joke since he outgrew Madara in middle school.

He won't acknowledge that he's a big man, only that he's bigger than Madara.

“Do you want to die in a coffee shop, Hashirama?"

Around a good-natured laugh, Hashirama says, “Fine, fine. Time to get going!”

Despite saying he needs to rush, Hashirama moves deliberately. His hold on Madara is firm but careful; he's been guiding Madara through crowds for so long that he knows how fast to go and the right distance to keep between them so Madara doesn't trip over him or lose his bearings.

It would be easier to enjoy the relief of being with someone who's learned what he needs if Madara weren't in love with Hashirama, but he's been in love with him for so long, it almost doesn't hurt anymore.

⁂

“How was lunch with Hashirama?” Izuna asks when Madara returns. “Did you kiss him?”

From his position leaning on his brother’s desk, Madara pointedly nudges one of the piles on Izuna’s desk with his cane.

“Madara!”

“You're lucky you're my beloved little brother,” Madara tells him, pulling his cane away. “Although, if you weren't, I wouldn't know where you keep your stacks of paperwork.”

He doesn't tell Izuna that he took a wild guess about where the papers would be.

Izuna grumbles under his breath as he rights the stack. “It was a good lunch, I take it. You're always more cheerful when Hashirama is in the mood to be attentive.”

Madara squeezes his cane. “Don't.”

“Oh, are we still pretending you aren't in love with him? I thought we were past that.”

“I think I'll be going up to my office now,” Madara says stiffly. “I have a lot of work to do. Be sure not to mix up your case notes again.

“It's been twenty years!” Izuna calls after him, as if they don't work in their family’s law office. “Just get it over with!”

⁂

Madara was nineteen when his vision began to change. He was blind in less than six months.

He'd known it was a possibility. His family is so predisposed to developing Ōtsutsuki’s Disease that most of them don't bother getting tested anymore. From the time they're old enough to understand, they're told their vision could disappear at any moment.

Tajima had shrugged when he told Madara. “My father went blind when he was seventy. My grandmother died sighted. They both lived good lives. Don't think too hard about it. Just remember your plans might have to change.”

Tajima himself, who hadn't lost his vision, died a year after his brother, who'd gone blind when he was twelve.

Madara took his father's advice to heart, and when his vision began to blur like he'd been told to watch for, he made an appointment. When he got confirmation that a sharingan was forming, he called Izuna, his school, then Hashirama. 

The worst part of going blind, if he had to pick a moment, was the day he turned twenty.

He didn't get to go to a bar and use his genuine ID to buy his first legal drink. He didn't get hammered with a group of his friends. He didn't get to play a drinking game or flirt with a stranger.

He sat in his bedroom with Izuna and watched a movie with the audio descriptions turned on, brushed his teeth, then went to sleep alone in his bed.

The day after he turned twenty was one of the best days of his life.

Hashirama showed up without warning, a couple clinking bottles of sake in hand and apologizing as soon as Madara opened the door.

“You know how my brothers and I go camping, then visit that bathhouse every winter break? We got lost on our way back,” he panted as he followed Madara inside. He'd probably run up the stairs, if not all the way from his apartment. “Tobirama and I were asleep in the back because Itama was driving- he just got his permit- and Kawarama promised we could let him navigate since he has his license now. They missed an exit and didn't want to tell us they didn't know how to get back on the highway, so they just kept driving. Tobirama is making them go to a museum with him to make it up to him.

“Which means you and I are free to celebrate your birthday together!”

Even a day late, Hashirama’s enthusiasm had brightened Madara’s mood.

In the safety of the tiny apartment Madara nominally shared with two distant cousins, the two of them got drunk on good sake and spent most of Hashirama's surprise visit lying on the floor while a cooking show played in the background.

Other friends Madara tried to make came and went, but Hashirama was a constant, reliable presence. Even when he was slammed in med school and later when he was slogging through his residency, if Madara didn't reach out periodically, Hashirama would. He'd call Madara or drop by for a surprise visit.

It didn't matter that he usually fell asleep on Madara’s couch right after dinner or dozed off on Madara's bed during the movie he insisted they watch together. Hashirama was there.

Madara still doesn't go to bars. Hashirama still has a habit of coming over unannounced and falling asleep in Madara’s space.

The brief moments of pretending Hashirama is asleep next to him because they're together are worth the heartache of remembering Hashirama was only stopping by.

⁂

The weather has gotten warm, so Madara heads to the outdoor table he and Hashirama use when they don't want to eat inside.

He waits there for longer than he'll admit to Izuna.

The familiar sound of someone running in loafers and breathing hard tells him when Hashirama arrives. 

“It's Hashirama,” Hashirama says as he sits down. With him comes a scent that makes Madara’s mouth water. He can't tell what it is, but he doesn't care. Whatever this is, it's fried, which means it’s for Madara.

Madara holds out his hands expectantly, but Hashirama only hands over Madara’s drink. It isn't his usual coffee; the bottle feels like glass, and it's cold.

“Sorry I'm late,” Hashirama says. “They were out of your favorite sandwich, and since I was early, I thought I'd get you a surprise for lunch. You can smell it, right?”

“Yes, and I'm hungry, so if you’d hand me my food, I'd appreciate it.”

It comes out snappier than Madara intends, but he missed breakfast and he's painfully aware of how long it's been since he ate.

Hashirama only chuckles. “You aren't going to ask what it is? What if I'm giving you something you don't like?”

“I know the smells of foods I dislike, and even if I didn't, you wouldn't do that. Whatever you got me, I'm sure it's good. So hand it over, Senju.”

Hashirama doesn't say anything for a moment. “Right. Of course. It’s yaki-gyoza in a round, topless container. They're still hot, so be careful.”

“I'm not a child.”

“That's true, but I know you, Madara.” As terse as Madara was a moment ago, Hashirama’s voice is warm. “You're impatient and you probably didn't eat breakfast. I'll feel guilty if I don't try to warn you before you start shoveling them in.”

Madara nods and gestures with his hands for Hashirama to give him his lunch.

Good friend that he is, Hashirama doesn't keep Madara waiting. He slides the container over and guides Madara’s hands to the edges one at a time. His own hands linger, showing Madara that the sides are low but thick.

“It’s from the place a couple blocks down with the sauce you like so much, so I made sure I got a bigger bowl of it. It's about tw-thirds full. I'm going to put it next to your left hand. Do you want chopsticks or-”

He sets the bowl down as he talks, so Madara picks up a dumpling with his bare hands and dunks it in the sauce.

Just to remind Hashirama that he isn't completely impulsive, Madara takes a small, careful bite.

It’s hot enough to be uncomfortable but not so hot Madara can't enjoy it.

He hasn't been to Tsuki in ages; the food is even better than Madara remembered.

Hashirama sighs. “You’re going to burn your mouth and I'm not going to be able to help you.”

“My mouth is heat resistant.”

“The time you stuck a still-flaming marshmallow in it says otherwise.”

Ignoring him, Madara takes another bite and hums to himself. The meat is tender, the dumpling is the perfect texture, and the sauce has exactly the right amount of kick.

Madara hasn't eaten anything this good in too long.

“Really, Madara,” Hashirama scolds weakly as Madara goes back for more sauce. “You're making a mess.”

Madara shrugs and puts the rest of the dumpling in his mouth. He could die right now and not mind. He’s got good food, it's a beautiful day, and Hashirama is with him.

Hashirama hasn't married Mito yet, so Madara can die with some of his fantasy intact.

He's halfway through his second dumpling when he hears Hashirama move. The red shape that must be his favorite jacket shifts.

“I'm sorry, but it's driving me crazy,” Hashirama says, patting Madara’s cheek with what must be a napkin. “You're usually such a tidy person. It's weird seeing you with sauce on your face.”

“Aren't you confusing me with your brother?”

Hashirama sits back with a huff.

Madara wishes he'd come close again.

“I haven't cleaned Tobirama’s face since he got so drunk at a cousin’s wedding he fell on my table and hit his head,” Hashirama protests. His voice grows amused as he says. “It wouldn't have been so bad, but the cake he landed on was red. His face was _covered_ in it. I had to carry him to the bathroom so I could check on the damage, but he kept wiggling. Someone’s in-laws got a surprise when they found me trying to drown my brother in a sink.”

“You haven't told me that story,” Madara accuses, reminding himself to keep eating.

He's tempted to lick his fingers.

Hashirama gets annoyed when he does that, so Madara licks the pad of his index finger.

“I haven't?” Hashirama asks faintly. Definitely trying not to sound annoyed. “I was sure I- Oh, that's right. I told Mito. You were studying for the bar and I didn't want to interrupt you. Since I tell you everything, I must have forgotten I hadn't by the time you finished.”

This, Madara thinks, is the kind of moment when he'd actually die.

“Of course,” Madara says. Hashirama will want him to ask, so he does. “How is Mito? Izuna mentioned she might be working with you after the merger.”

“She's only doing some contract work for now, but it's a possibility. Considering how big of an undertaking the patient portal we’re building is going to be, I'm sure Tobirama will want to hire her.”

“And considering how skilled she is,” Madara adds. Tobirama wouldn't let someone unqualified touch his project just because she's dating his brother. “It must be nice to see her more often.”

“It is!” Hashirama says too loudly.

He launches into an explanation of the project he and Mito are working on together. As always, it quickly becomes impossible for Madara to follow it.

His lunch gets cold, but Hashirama is happy.

Besides, Madara isn't hungry anymore.

⁂

Eventually, Hashirama realizes he's been talking for too long and stops. Their lunch breaks are almost over now, and with an embarrassed apology, he hands a wet wipe to Madara.

Madara cleans himself off, wishing as he does that he hadn't been so messy.

“Did you not like your lunch?” Hashirama asks. “You only ate half. There's even leftover sauce.”

“I didn't?” Madara asks, feigning surprise. “Well, they'll be good for dinner.”

“But you don't like reheated fried things.”

“So you want me to throw them out?”

“That isn't what I meant.”

Madara closes his eyes. He can feel a headache building. “I just wasn't as hungry as I thought.”

“You were hungry until I started talking,” Hashirama insists. “I know you find the computer talk frustrating, but that isn't the problem, is it?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Madara lies.

“Come on, Madara. I know you like her, but it isn't fair to penalize her for not being able to read you. If you'd asked her out, she would have said yes. I'm sure of it! But you didn't and she moved on. You shouldn't punish her for that.

“Or me.”

Madara freezes, momentarily stunned by how wrong Hashirama is. 

“You think I’m mad at Mito for not going out with me,” he says flatly. “You think I didn't eat my lunch because I'm pining after your girlfriend.”

“Aren't you?” Hashirama asks. His voice is challenging.

“No, Hashirama. Not even a little bit.” Getting to his feet, Madara finishes cleaning his hands and drops the wipe on the table. “Thank you for lunch.”

He unfolds his cane and sets off.

“Madara!” Hashirama calls. “Madara, wait! Where are you going?”

“To the restroom!” Madara hollers back.

“Wait a minute so I can help you!”

“Help me with what, Hashirama?” Madara asks, bristling. Hashirama isn't stupid. Before he quit medicine to help Tobirama build a nation-wide patient portal, he'd been a respected surgeon. He got scholarships because he’s charming and insightful.

Even so, there are times Madara wants to shake him until Hashirama finally understands that Madara loves him and it hurts.

Normally, Madara faces Hashirama when they talk because Hashirama understands him better when he can read Madara’s face, but Madara isn't in the mood to give Hashirama any further advantages. “What do you intend to do for me in there, Hashirama? Hold my dick? I can do that for myself!”

Hashirama calls his name again.

Madara ignores him.

⁂

Izuna picks Madara up at a used book store. Madara had to go inside and ask someone to tell him where he was so he could tell his brother, but at least he got an answer right away from the girl behind the counter.

“So,” Izuna says as he drives them back to the office, “you got into a fight with your boyfriend, huh?”

“Enough!” Madara snaps. “You do this every week. What does it accomplish, Izuna?”

The silence from his brother makes Madara’s gut churn with guilt, but he crosses his arms and doesn't say anything.

Four turns later, Izuna says, “I’m sorry.”

Unwilling to let go of his anger entirely, Madara does reach for his brother.

When he feels skin instead of the leather seat, he gives it a pat.

“Hashirama thinks I’m angry because I wanted Mito to go out with me instead of him.”

Izuna laughs so hard he has to pull over.

⁂

The rest of the day goes as usual. Madara calls opposing counsel on one of his cases and threatens to go to the judge if he doesn't get electronic copies of the records he was promised, leaves a loud message shaming a wealthy donor who hasn't sent the money he pledged, butts heads with Izuna twice over his application of a ruling, and curses everyone in his family who thought being a good lawyer meant Madara should run the practice.

By the time he gets home Madara is almost too tired to be angry.

A soft _mrrow_ calls his attention to the floor.

“Izanami,” Madara says happily as he bends down. “At last, someone with sense.”

A soft body bumps against his hand, already purring, and Madara scratches the top of Izanami’s head.

Getting a cat was Hashirama’s idea. He'd been complaining at Madara for not going home often enough back when Madara and Izuna had just started trying to rebuild their family’s failing practice. A cat would require at least once daily attention

Madara had been skeptical, but Hashirama had insisted that he at least meet some. Eventually, Madara let Hashirama drag him to a shelter. Hashirama, despite his claims otherwise, had already had a kitten picked out, but Madara had overheard the volunteers talking about an older cat who was shy and hadn't been adopted despite multiple rotations.

Hashirama adopted the kitten he'd liked so much, and Izanami went home with Madara.

Ever since, Madara has come home at the same time every day, unwilling to worry his pet, and Izanami has always greeted him at the door, pleased to have Madara back.

Unlike Hashirama, the most heartache Izanami has caused him is the destruction of a silk pillowcase.

“A small price to pay for the friendship of someone who doesn't think I want to fuck his girlfriend,” Madara tells him. “And, unlike Tsuna, you don't try to chew on everything.”

Izanami purrs louder, pushing her face even harder into Madara’s hand.

Madara drops his bag, folds up his cane, and sits on the floor, the better to kiss the top of Izanami’s head.

He was always going to have to let go of Hashirama. At least he won't be alone without Hashirama.

⁂

Madara hates family law. He doesn't know why he was given this as a pro bono. His cases clearly skew as far from here as possible.

A common law marriage- how do these things still happen? His textbook definitely said they weren't legally recognized.

“Madara?” a familiar, uptight voice demands, as if Madara weren't already having a bad day. “Is that you in there?”

“Not if you're a Senju.”

Tobirama- and it must be Tobirama because the only person Madara knows who sounds this irritated before a conversation has even begun and uses a cane is the eldest of Hashirama’s pack of younger brothers- walks into Madara’s office.

Izuna must have left the door open again. He does it to be helpful, but Madara likes to keep it closed to prevent exactly this situation.

“Hashirama told me you two got into it last week.”

“It was nothing,” Madara says, waving a hand dismissively. “He's just sensitive.”

“Is that why you asked if he was going to hold your dick for you? Because he's sensitive?”

Of course Tobirama knows. Hashirama talks too much.

It's fun when Madara is there to witness Tobirama’s protests that he doesn't want to know this thought or that thought.

It's less fun when Madara is stuck dealing with Tobirama trying to help his brother.

“Before you try to apologize for him, I want you to know it won't work.”

“I haven't tried to apologize for Hashirama since we were children. Whatever you two and Mito need to sort out is your business.”

Suspicious, Madara asks, “Then why are you here?”

“Two reasons. First, to give you the check you shouted at my answering machine for. The amount is less than what I pledged because I sent the other by mail. If you still haven't received it by next week, feel free to yell some more. I gave it to your brother on my way in. Or one of your cousins. It's difficult to tell,”

“And the second?” Madara asks, opting not to engage with that.

Even sighted people have difficulty distinguishing them.

Tobirama makes a noise Madara can't easily parse. “There's a bar near your apartment I like. The lighting isn't bad, and it's easy to walk around in. It isn't very popular, but that's an advantage for people like us. I’ve only fucked two of the men I've met there, and I doubt we share a type.”

For lack of a better reply, Madara mutters, “Don’t underestimate the breadth of my taste.”

“I cannot explain to you how hard I'm trying not to estimate your taste at all.” The red edge of Tobirama’s cane flashes into view as he does something Madara hopes isn't going to ruin his day. “Go or don't. I don't care.”

Madara’s computer chirps an alert, and the automated voice announces, “New text message from The Worst Senju.”

There's a long beat of silence before Madara asks, “Why are you being nice to me?”

“It’s a mystery to me as well.” Tobirama makes a soft, frustrated sound. “I’m aware of the paradoxical lack of privacy and isolation that can accompany blindness. I don't like you, but I’m not heartless.

“And Kagami asked me to help you. The rest of his team wouldn't stop complaining at me for saying it was none of my business, so here I am. Humoring the interns.”

Tobirama says it so flatly, Madara knows he's trying to hide how much he likes them.

“My cousin is difficult not to like,” Madara observes.

“He is. I can't help but wonder if the two of you are actually related or if his parents pulled a fast one.”

“That's interesting. I often wonder if the stick up your ass is the reason you've never had a long term relationship. Has Hashirama not recommended a suitable proctologist for you?”

“And that’s the sign that my good deed has been done and I can return to work,” Tobirama says tightly. “Goodbye, Madara. Try not to sleep with any of the men I did.”

“Tobirama!” Madara shouts.

Tobirama doesn't answer, but when Izuna comes in a minute later, he tells Madara that Tobirama had been smiling as he left.

“Why was he smiling, Madara?”

“Hopefully just because he said something unsettling,” Madara says. He doesn't trust Tobirama as a rule, but for once, he might have done something good.

Possibly.

“What are you doing after work tomorrow, Izuna?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“I have something I need your help with.”

⁂

Izuna puzzles out Madara’s plan over the course of an hour.

He's usually such good company, Madara forgets he's fully capable of acting like the younger brother he is.

Leaning on Madara’s chair, Izuna asks, “So you’re really going to go?”

“That’s why I asked if you were busy. I’ll need your input on an outfit.”

“You definitely will.” He pats Madara’s shoulder. “I know you're uncomfortable in places like that, so I'll go with you. It could be fun! Unless I'm not allowed in?”

“If I'm there, you definitely aren't.”

“You can't fault me for being a bad wingman when I was in middle school. I hadn't even had my first kiss! How was I supposed to know how to make boys want to kiss you?”

Madara sighs. “I was thinking of last year when you got sick on me at the fundraiser for the clinic.”

Izuna slumps over onto Madara. “I wasn't feeling well! Hashirama told me the punch barely had any alcohol.”

Madara shakes his head, and Izuna says, “Sorry, Madara. I didn't mean to bring him up.”

“It's fine. I'm not avoiding him. He's the one avoiding me.” Reaching up, Madara pats the first part of Izuna he bumps into. It feels like a shoulder. “And you know Hashirama has a high alcohol tolerance- which you already knew, so getting sick because you thought he was a reliable barometer is still your fault.”

“Aren't you supposed to look after me? I'm your little brother, you know.”

“Hashirama and I took you home, didn't we?” Madara asks sharply. “I didn't get laid so I could tuck my grown brother in. I even made Hashirama promise to check his brothers’ phones and remove any embarrassing pictures of you. What more was I supposed to do?”

Madara had been flirting with a man with a nice voice. It was a little like Hashirama’s, but he spoke completely differently.

He'd been obviously interested in Madara, and for a little while, until Izuna stumbled over and got sick on him, Madara had had the man’s full attention. He'd touched Madara’s arm and stood too close. He’d said the usual things- did Madara work out, was he here with anyone, what was being a lawyer like.

He'd been awkward about Madara’s blindness, but for a one night stand that interested, Madara would make allowances.

Izuna doesn't answer, and Madara squeezes his arm. “Sorry, Izuna. I know it wasn't intentional. Hashirama offered to take you home; I’m the one who insisted I go with the two of you and make sure you just needed to sleep it off.”

“You're a good brother, Madara, but it wouldn't be a bad thing for you to let other people help.”

Izuna doesn't mention the brothers they lost who Madara can't fuss over.

“And become a delegator like Tobirama?" Madara asks. "I'll take a heart attack in my forties before I let that happen.”

He gets the laugh he'd wanted, and with a pat of Madara’s shoulder, Izuna straightens up. “I'll make it up to you this time!”

Threatening promise made, he leaves Madara to his work.

Groaning, Madara returns his attention to his computer and the family law refresher he'd been letting Izuna distract him from.

At least this narrator doesn't have a distracting voice

The last one sounded too much like Hashirama.

⁂

Of the three outfits Madara lays out on his bed for his brother to approve, Izuna vetoes two outright.

“This shirt is so big all four Senju brothers could fit in it comfortably, and we both know the pants are too long for you. They're from your freshman year in college, and you tripped over them then, and we both know you haven't gotten any taller since.” He huffs from his perch on Madara’s bed. “This combo could work, though. You _are_ going into the woods to seduce BigFoot, right? Really, Madara. Cargo pants? How old are you?”

The third gets the worst reception.

“That,” Izuna says, as he pulls Madara over by the wrist to sit by him on the bed, “is what you wear when you're trying to get Hashirama to notice you.”

“What are you talking about?” Madara asks, the back of his neck prickling. “I like how they feel, and the man in the changing room next to mine when I bought them told me they looked good on me.”

Izuna groans and puts his hands on Madara’s shoulders. “Madara. I will accept that you like how the fabric feels and that a stranger complimented you, but is it possible that what you _really_ like is the feeling of Hashirama liking you in them?”

“That would rely on me having a reason to think Hashirama likes me in them, which I don't have.”

“Which you don't- Madara. How many times has he complimented you when you wear them? Every time. Every time you wear this, Hashirama makes a point of saying how well they suit you.”

“That's just how he is.”

“Hashirama has told me I looked good exactly once, and he definitely wasn’t looking at me like he looks at you.”

Madara crosses his arms. “And how would I know that?”

Izuna moves back. “You wouldn't.”

Anger creeps up Madara’s spine. “Izuna.”

“I didn't say anything because I wanted you to make the choice on your own!” Izuna says, urgent. “What if I was wrong and you got hurt? What if you didn't say anything and stayed so hung up on him, you never even tried to date anymore!”

“Isn't that my choice to make?” Madara argues. Humiliation joins the anger; he never would have thought Izuna of all people would do this, and now the years of Izuna’s pointed comments feel like a joke at Madara’s expense. “What right do you have to keep that to yourself? You know there are things I need you to tell me.”

“Because Hashirama should tell you! If he really loved you, he’d say something. He knows you can't see him; he's the gold standard for someone who narrates the world for you. So he’s choosing not to tell you things, just like he didn't say anything after my graduation party-”

He cuts himself off, but he's said enough.

Madara swallows. “You knew?”

Izuna doesn't answer. 

“Izuna!”

“I saw the two of you when I came out to tell you we were ready to go play manhunt,” Izuna admits quietly. “I thought you were just talking- that's how you've always been, always sitting in corners together and going off on your own. By the time I realized that wasn't what you were doing…”

Shame crawls up Madara’s throat; he swallows against it. “By the time you realized…?”

“I was close enough to hear you tell Hashirama you loved him.” Izuna touches Madara’s forearm. “I heard him not say it back. My brother told him he loved him and he ignored it. He didn't say he didn't love you or even sorry. How could I want you to love him? I wanted you to love someone else. I still want you to love someone else.”

It's almost a relief to hear Izuna say it. Madara has carried that day for a decade, assuming it was a private shame between Hashirama and him. “And you never said anything because you didn't want to embarrass me.”

“I’m sorry, Madara. I saw him break your heart, and I wanted to kill him. I knew you wouldn't want me to, so I pretended I hadn't heard anything.”

“That's why you really hit Itama, isn't it?” Madara asks, recalling that Hashirama's awkward silence after Madara said he loved him had been broken by their brothers fighting.

“Yeah,” Izuna admits. “I was going to hit Tobirama since he'd earn it eventually and Itama and Kawabata are decent, but, well…”

But Tobirama is blind.

“He’d earn it, yes, but his brothers would have killed you first,” Madara drawls.

“And I would have deserved it.” Izuna sighs. “Fucking Senju. You can't win.”

Madara coughs a laugh. “Fucking Senju.”

Izuna’s bumps his shoulder against Madara’s. “I should have told you about the way Hashirama looks at you and what I saw. I'm sorry, Madara.”

Madara lays his hand over Izuna’s and squeezes it. “Make it up to me by helping me choose a better outfit.”

⁂

As Tobirama said, the bar is unusually easy to navigate.

Madara is sitting at the bar, sipping a drink the bartender promised he'd like and thinking it's a shame the man doesn't seem to want to be flirted with- the drink he made is good, and he has a nice voice

Izuna, who promised to be a silent wingman, is sipping a club soda and chatting with the bartender about sports.

Madara hears the click of a cane, and Izuna leans in and whispers, “If the guy coming over says hi, say hi back.”

Izuna still hasn't quite grasped the idea that Madara’s taste in appearances doesn't factor in anymore. Hashirama still being attractive to him has little to do with Madara’s memory of him being nice to look at.

If it did, Madara might have moved on when he went blind.

The man doesn't say hi.

Nor do the next two men.

A woman gives him a nod, according to Izuna, which does mean Madara isn't actually invisible.

“Maybe people like us just don't have the right vibe,” Izuna sighs after yet another man barely acknowledges them. “Tobirama recommended this place. Maybe they're all like him.”

“Don't put that out into the world. One Tobirama is more than enough.”

Izuna snorts. “Fucking Senju. You'd think he'd ask Hashirama to find him a doctor to get that stick out of his ass.”

Madara snorts. “I told him that last time we spoke. I think Tobirama might think the stick is exactly where it belongs. Please don't make any jokes about that. My evening is bad enough.”

“Tobirama?” asks a voice to Madara’s right. “A man named Tobirama with a stick up his ass- you don't mean Senju Tobirama, do you?”

“Why?” Madara asks warily, turning.

“Because,” the new person says, “I went to school with him. I would have been the top of the class if it weren't for him.”

“My condolences.”

He gets a knowing laugh in reply. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Madara,” Izuna whispers loudly in his ear. “Madara, say hi to this one.”

Madara firmly pushes his brother back. “Hello.”

⁂

Tobirama’s rival- Madara can't remember his name- isn't blind. He said he came with a friend, and the friend left with someone.

Madara is reminding himself of all of this because if he thinks about how long it's been since someone touched him for anything other than guiding him through a crowd, he's going to embarrass himself.

He hadn't had high expectations. He'd hoped to meet someone, flirt for a while if he remembered how, then go home and have a drink with his brother. That was as hopeful as he'd been.

Now he's in the hallway outside his apartment, his back against his door, kissing someone for the first time in years.

The last time someone kissed him like they wanted him this much, he was nineteen and kissing Hashirama for the first and last time.

Izanami must be asleep. Usually he'd be meowing at Madara to hurry up and come inside.

Going inside is a good idea anyway. Madara’s hand is going to cramp up from holding his cane this tight.

Tobirama’s rival- this is a one time thing, so his name doesn't matter- lifts Madara’s shirt and thumbs the button on his pants open, but as much as Madara knows he should move things inside, he can barely think around how good it feels.

Hashirama is taller than Madara, and he never outgrew his love of running around outside. He's solid; Madara loves how his body feels against Madara’s. His voice is the perfect pitch, just deep enough to feel like Izanami purring. All the interesting textures Hashirama picks for his clothes make keeping his hands to himself difficult, and Madara hates having to let go.

The man unzipping Madara’s pants definitely isn't Hashirama, but he's what Madara wants tonight.

Madara bites his cheek at the feeling of a hand reaching down his pants, but he can't help the noise he makes.

“We should-” he tries to say, but he breaks off when the world tilts.

“Madara?” two voices ask as Madara falls backwards.

He's saved from a painful landing by a collision with someone solid who’s wearing a smooth, stretchy shirt and a familiar aftershave.

Clenching his jaw against the disappointment rushing through him, Madara lets Hashirama stand him back up.

“Thank you, Hashirama,” Madara says, forcing himself to be civil. “Why are you here?”

Hashirama clears his throat. “I was waiting for you.”

“And why were you waiting for me?”

“I wanted to apologize.”

“Should I go?” Tobirama’s rival asks.

“You may as well,” Madara says, rubbing his forehead. He can't even escape Hashirama for one night. “Sorry.”

“It was good while it lasted,” the man says.

Madara opens his mouth to say the same, but Hashirama pulls him into the apartment.

“Where's Izanami?” Madara asks, cutting him off. If he's going to have this conversation- exactly what conversation it is, he doesn't know, but it doesn't matter- he should at least have the comfort of his cat.

“He's in my arms,” Hashirama says. “We were waiting for you together.”

Izanami meows helpfully.

“If you sit down, I’ll bring him to you.”

Nodding- carrying Izanami one-handed is difficult- Madara folds up his cane and sets it in its place by the door, then heads to the couch and gestures for Hashirama to give him his cat.

Hashirama does, and Madara relaxes as Izanami rubs his face on Madara’s. His enthusiastic purring doesn't fix Madara’s mood, but it still feels good.

“Well?” Madara asks when Hashirama doesn't offer an explanation on his own “Why were you waiting for me?”

Hashirama, who’s standing a few feet away, clears his throat. “Could you- Your pants are still open.”

“And they were going to come off if you hadn't decided to swing by unannounced. We’re both uncomfortable this way, aren't we?”

“Madara, please.”

“Please what, Hashirama?” Madara asks sharply.

Hashirama has an expressive face; when they were younger, Madara never had to wonder what he was thinking. Now he has to rely on what Hashirama says. He hadn't thought that was a problem- Hashirama is nothing if not an open book- but after what Izuna said and the revelation of Hashirama's own silence, Madara isn't so sure.

The floor creaks as Hashirama shifts his weight. “I don't know.”

“You don't know,” Madara echoes. Izanami stops purring long enough to make a questioning noise, then resumes even louder. “Go home, Hashirama. I'm tired, and you should be with Mito. There's nothing for you here.”

“Mito and I broke up.”

Madara’s stomach drops. “No.”

“I wouldn't lie about this, Madara.”

“Why tonight?” Madara runs his hand through his hair. “I was finally going to have a good time with someone. I was going to start moving on. But here you are. In my living room. Ready to fuck up my life again.” A bitter laugh slips out. “It's better than the back of my father’s house during my brother's graduation party. I'll give you that. The places you've broken my heart are becoming more private.”

“Excuse me?” Hashirama asks. His voice is sharp. “How did I break your heart?”

In for a penny, in for a pound. Madara may as well commit.

“When someone says they love you and you don't say anything back, that breaks their heart.”

“What are you talking about? _You’re_ the one who broke _my_ heart.”

“No, I didn't,” Madara argues.

Hashirama makes a noise of frustration. “This isn't helping. Let's go over what happened.”

“Why?”

“Because one of us is wrong, and I want to know why.”

The one who's wrong is Hashirama, but they may as well do this.

“Fine.” Madara crosses his arms. As I said, we were at Izuna’s graduation party at my father's house. You and I were taking a break from our brothers.”

“Agreed so far. I had a bottle of something- I don't know what- that I stole from my dad. We were sharing it.”

Madara remembers that part clearly. Hashirama had finally grown his bowl cut out when he graduated from high school, and his hair had just grown long enough to stay in a ponytail- it was low, flat against the nape of his neck, because he hadn't figured out how to tie it higher up. Madara’s vision had already begun to blue by then, but he'd planned on offering to teach him.

It's almost as long as Madara’s now, according to Izuna, and as far as Madara knows, Hashirama never learned how to put his hair up.

“Then you should remember that I pulled you over to the house so our brothers wouldn't see us and interrupt,” Hashirama continues. “You told me to take better liquor next time.”

“And you told me not to complain when I didn't bring anything.”

The floor creaks again. “I'm sitting down,” Hashirama explains.

Having to teach someone to do all the things Hashirama knows has always been a barrier to wanting someone else. Madara isn't a teacher. He isn't patient. He isn't fragile, and he doesn't want to endure the process of dealing with someone new as they figure out the difference between guiding him and treating him like a child.

Hashirama doesn't pick up the path through their memories, so Madara does. “I told you my vision wasn't just changing like it had when I was younger. I was going to go blind before I could even think of taking the bar exam, and you said if they couldn't have it read to me, I should sue.”

Madara laughs at the memory; it's small, less amused by the joke than the memory of how much he'd laughed because he'd been afraid Hashirama would try to tell him to be brave. He'd been so relieved that Hashirama hadn't said that, he'd thought he would burst.

“I took the bottle from you and said I was going to have to get used to paying attention to where I was walking, and you told me not to worry too much since you'd always walk next to me.”

“And you told me to take my head out of my ass.” This time, it's Hashirama whose laughter is too quiet. “I was trying to be romantic, but I didn't say it right.”

“Romantic?” Madara asks. “Why were you trying to be romantic?”

There's a soft thump. “I’m lying on my back now. You should tell Izuna he needs to do a better job vacuuming.”

“One thing at a time,” Madara says. The anger from earlier is gone, but in its place is a growing sense of dread. “Whatever we were drinking was stronger than I realized. I leaned against the house, and you came over. You touched my forehead, and we kissed.”

“No.”

Madara frowns. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean you're leaving out part of it.”

“I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. I touched your forehead, you closed your eyes, and I told you that I loved you. You told me not to be an ass, so I kissed you.” Hashirama pauses. “I told you I’d wanted to kiss you since you told me I had an annoying neurosis.

“Then you kissed me. You pulled me down by the collar of my shirt and you kissed me. So I kissed you back. And when we stopped because your knees were shaking, you said you loved me.”

Izanami meows in reprimand at the way Madara is squeezing him. Madara lets go quickly, and Izanami hops off his lap.

“I don't remember any of that,” he tells Hashirama.

“I was so happy I couldn't breathe,” Hashirama says as if Madara hadn't spoken. “I would have said I loved you again. I was going to say I loved you again. I was going to say it so many times you'd get sick of it. I was going to annoy you by saying it in front of our brothers, but Izuna hit Itama before I could. I had to make sure my brothers didn't murder yours, which took a long time because Tobirama heard Itama crying and he's faster than I am. By the time I had the three of them calmed down, you and Izuna were gone.

“That should have told me something was wrong, but you'd told me you loved me. You'd kissed me. So I woke up at dawn and waited on my father’s porch until you and Izuna came out. I asked you if you wanted to walk into town with me and you said no. You wouldn't even look at me.”

He sounds miserable.

“You told me you loved me, and you regretted it.”

Madara’s heart thunders in his ears. “I remember drinking and kissing you and you saying nothing. Then I had to pull Izuna away, but I was drunk and threw up because he wouldn't stop squirming, so he had to help me inside.”

It had always felt odd. Hashirama never shies away from awkward situations. He makes them constantly, and he powers through them like they're nothing.

There's nothing he can't handle with a laugh and an apology.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? Hashirama hadn't laughed and apologized. He'd been so uncomfortable, he could only stand in silence.

Except, apparently, he hadn't.

“Itama and Kawarama don't know,” Hashirama tells him, “but Tobirama does. He knew something was wrong, and you know how he gets. He wouldn't leave me alone until I told him what happened. So he's spent the last ten years hating you on my behalf.”

“Izuna knows as well.” Madara shakes his head. “He didn't tell me until today, but he saw the last part- us kissing, you not saying when I told you I loved you. That's why he hit Itama.”

Hashirama sighs. “You know what's sad? I still love you. I’ve spent almost half of my life wanting to be nineteen again so I could at least have those three kisses again.”

Madara swallows. “You dated other people.”

“What was I supposed to do? Spend the rest of my life wallowing over a childhood crush who rejected me? I want to be happy, Madara. If you didn't want to be with me, I had to try with other people.”

Something knocks on the floor.

“Hashirama?”

“It was just my head,” Hashirama says. “I'm still lying on your floor.” He chuckles. “Usually when I feel like this, I'm leaving your apartment, so I guess we’re both experiencing heartbreak in private.”

Izanami yawns and climbs back into Madara’s lap. He pushes his head into Madara’s hand, demanding attention.

Scratching Izanami’s chin absently, Madara asks, “Why did you and Mito break up?”

“She knows I’m still hung up on you. She's known from the start, but I think, since we genuinely love each other, we both thought I'd get over it in time.”

“Do you think it's too late for us?” Madara asks. “Has it been too long?”

“I don’t think it's too late.”

“You didn't even think about it.”

“I think about it every day. I came here to ask you to tell me one way or the other. I still love you. Do you love me?”

When he was a boy, Madara’s father told him not to use the word love carelessly. Their family has a long history of getting in trouble because of love, so Madara shouldn't say it if he doesn't trust that person with his life.

Tajima wasn't much of a teacher either.

Madara leans back on the couch. “I do, yeah.”

“Does that mean I can kiss you again?”

Madara waves at him to come over. “I'm not going to get on the floor.”

“Because Izuna doesn't vacuum?”

“Do you not want to kiss me? It's difficult to tell.”

Hashirama chuckles, and Madara hears him haul himself up and trot over.

Madara nudges Izanami until he hops down.

The couch shifts as Hashirama sits down. Madara turns toward him and reaches out until Hashirama catches one hand and lays it on his cheek.

“So you know where I am.”

His voice is soft, just like the kiss leans in for.

The second kiss isn't as soft, and the third feels more like the kind of kiss a wasted decade should have earned him.

“Were you drinking?” Hashirama asks, pulling back.

“An hour ago, and it was mostly fruit juice.”

“I see.”

“I'm not going to forget again, but if you want to be sure, don't stop kissing me,” Madara tells him. “We don't have to do anything else. Just don’t pull away now.”

“Do anything else?”

Madara feels the wheels turning in Hashirama’s head and sighs. 

“You interrupted what was going to be my first one night stand since college, Hashirama.”

Madara braces for Hashirama to put the pieces together.

“Really? But you haven't dated either. That would mean you haven't had sex in…”

“Years, yes.”

Hashirama groans. “You have no idea how much I wish that weren't a turn on.”

“It's probably about as much as I wish it weren't.”

“Don't be like that. It's kind of sweet.”

“If I pretend to agree, will you stop talking about it?”

Hashirama kisses him. “You're definitely not drunk this time.”

“Why the sudden confidence?”

“You argue less when you're drunk.”

Madara hears the joke but lets Hashirama kiss him anyway. He can argue about arguing later.

Hashirama shifts closer, and Madara tilts his head to keep kissing him

“I'm glad you didn't sleep with that guy,” Hashirama says quietly, his lips brushing Madara’s.

“It's like you want to fight.”

Hashirama hums and kisses Madara’s jaw.

Madara hears himself whine and reaches for Hashirama with his other hand. His fingers slide through Hashirama’s hair as Madara searches for his face. His hair is so fine, it slides through Madara’s fingers without catching. 

Madara gives it a small, experimental tug, and Hashirama stops kissing him to groan.

“Maybe not so soon? We’re still just kissing on your couch, Madara.”

“You like it that much?” Madara asks.

“I do.” Hashirama kisses him. “And if you keep pulling, you'll find out how much I like it.”

Madara pulls on it again.

Hashirama curses. “I should have known you'd do that.”

“Yes, you should have.”

Madara lets go of Hashirama’s hair and runs his hands over Hashirama's body, feeling the breadth of Hashirama's shoulders and the solid lines of his arms. His chest is firm. His waist is trim.

His belly, when Madara puts a hand on it, is warm.

“Madara! Cold!”

“Sorry,” Madara soothes. “It will warm up in a minute.”

He expects an argument, but Hashirama only moves even closer. The cushions shift as he moves, the dip his weight makes tipping Madara into him.

“You haven't outgrown working out yet, huh?” Madara asks as Hashirama kisses his neck.

Hashirama noses at Madara’s jaw. “I only wanted something to do when I couldn’t go out and run, but you seemed to like it.” He sucks at a spot low on Madara’s neck. “It drove me crazy at first. I couldn't figure out why you kept touching me so much.”

“Are you looking for an apology?”

“No, I just want you to know how much I suffered. I was twenty-one, and I had to go to class after you spent ten minutes pawing at me. I almost failed a chemistry class because I couldn't concentrate.”

“I didn't _paw_ at you.”

“You did. And the guy I was dating reaped the benefits.”

He kisses the objection off Madara’s tongue.

“People started to think I was stupid because of you. Stupid and chronically trying to get laid.” He laughs, and the sound is happy and easy. “They weren't wrong.”

Madara clears his throat. “I got in trouble for picking a fight with a client once because I was in bad mood. You were wearing a silk shirt and I didn't want to let go so I could talk to an annoying man with more money than sense.”

“I might owe you an apology for that,” Hashirama says sheepishly. “I noticed that you get handsy when you like how something feels, and since you'd been inviting me to go with you to things, I tried to encourage you to stick around by wearing things I knew you liked.”

Rather than think about why that makes his face burn, Madara leans into Hashirama and pushes him back so Madara can get on his lap.

The last time he did this, he could see what he was doing, and as he gets up, muscle memory suddenly feels unreliable.

Hashirama puts a hand on Madara’s thigh and guides it to the cushion next to his thigh. He touches the back of Madara’s other thigh, but this time, he doesn't so much help Madara land as tug him into place.

“Sorry,” he says cheerfully. “I got impatient.”

Madara doesn't trust the apology, but he's more interested in finding Hashirama’s face and tilting his head for a kiss.

“Oh, did you want to feel my face?” Hashirama asks. “I’m not twenty anymore. You might not want me.”

“I do want to, yeah,” Madara breathes. He follows Hashirama’s hips to his chest, then his neck, up to his jaw.

Hashirama’s face is angular; his beard grows slowly, so his cheeks are smooth.

Madara cups his face in his hands for a moment before he very deliberately squeezes Hashirama’s cheeks and pulls them toward his ears with both hands.

“It was just a joke,” Hashirama complains.

“You do feel different,” Madara muses, ignoring Hashirama’s whining as he pushes at different parts of Hashirama’s face. “Very asymmetrical. And so lumpy. Did something happen to it?”

He expects more complaints.

Instead, Hashirama skims his hands up the backs of Madara’s thighs and grabs his ass.

Madara yelps, and Hashirama laughs so hard Madara shakes with it.

“I can still surprise you,” Hashirama says brightly. “I'm glad! I thought you might know all my tricks.”

“How would I know any of them? We've never done this before.”

“I suppose that's true… Well, you'll find out, right?”

Madara would tell him not to be so sure of himself, but Hashirama squeezes and all Madara can do is hold onto Hashirama’s face. He's leaning too hard, but he can't make himself move.

“Tobirama is going to think you hit me,” Hashirama observes. “Payback for him hitting Izuna, maybe.”

“Don't talk about our brothers when you're grabbing my ass,” Madara hisses.

“Sorry, sorry. Should I stop grabbing your ass?”

He lets go, and Madara does the same, disappointed and relieved at once.

“Sorry, Madara. I shouldn't make this harder.” Hashirama kisses Madara's throat. “I just didn't expect that you'd want to have fun.”

“This is fun?”

“Isn't it?”

Madara dips his head and lays his forehead on Hashirama’s.

“I guess it is.”

Hashirama lays his hands on Madara’s waist. He keeps them on top of Madara's shirt, and his thumbs rub trace the line of Madara’s hips. It's an innocent gesture.

Probably innocent.

“You said we don't have to go any further,” Hashirama says, “I'm going to say the same thing. It's late. You haven't had sex in a long time. We could stop here if you want. We could keep doing what we’re doing.”

“Or?”

“Or, if you wanted to, we could keep going.”

“That's what you want, right?” Madara asks.

“Yeah.”

Madara's gut says to keep going. He's finally got Hashirama to himself. Why would he risk letting Hashirama out of his sight before he's had a chance to fuck him?

Hashirama keeps rubbing circles over Madara’s hips, waiting patiently.

There are good reasons to stop, but there are better ones not to.

Reaching down, Madara’s hands close around the hem of Hashirama’s shirt. “I like the third option.”

Hashirama kisses Madara’s neck. He doesn't press Madara; he only says. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

Fingers flexing, Madara nods.

⁂

“I've thought about this so much,” Hashirama breathes as he helps Madara out of his pants. They already tossed their shirts aside, and they could have been naked now if Hashirama didn't insist on taking his sweet with everything.

“Well, think no more.”

“Why would I do that?” Hashirama asks. “Now I can think about how you actually look.”

He’s kneeling on the couch between Madara’s open thighs. Madara can feel the weight of his attention; it makes him prickle.

“Take your clothes off, Hashirama,” he says.

The sounds Hashirama makes and the way he squirms tell Madara that Hashirama didn't try to strip gracefully.

“Done!” Hashirama announces. He lies down on top of Madara carefully.

Hashirama’s skin is soft and smooth and as Madara touches him, lightly tracing the swell of muscle by Hashirama’s elbow, he learns something new.

“You're ticklish?”

“You didn't know?” Hashirama settles back down, breathless from laughing. “I always thought you were tickling me on purpose.”

Madara shakes his head. “I wasn’t.”

“So you were tormenting me accidentally. There's a law against that, isn't there?”

“Possibly.”

Madara pulls Hashirama close with a hand on the back of his neck, and Hashirama kisses him.

“Hey, Madara? I really want to make you come.”

Madara’s mouth goes dry. That's the point of what they're doing, but the way Hashirama says it makes it real.

“The table next to my bed,” Madara tells him. “There's a bottle.”

Hashirama kisses him quickly. “I'll be right back.”

He gets up and, from the sound of it, clumsily runs into Madara’s bedroom. He isn't quiet about his search, and despite the pounding of his heart, Madara smiles at the triumphant noise Hashirama makes.

Hashirama’s return is more graceful, but he still flops down on top of Madara.

“That drawer is very interesting,” he announces.

Madara knows Hashirama is grinning; he can feel it in his gut. “Where's the bottle, Hashirama?”

“In my hand.”

Hashirama kisses him, and Madara cups his face. Hashirama isn't lying directly on top of him, but his head is close enough for Madara to touch him easily.

Madara traces the jut of Hashirama's cheek with one thumb, and Hashirama kisses him again, harder.

The sound of the cap popping open is loud; it feels significant.

“It should be warm now,” Hashirama says, “but tell me if it isn't.”

Madara nods.

Hashirama doesn't move away. He kisses Madara, and Madara tries to focus on that instead of the feeling of Hashirama running his knuckles down Madara’s chest.

When Hashirama closes his hand around him, Madara turns his face into the couch and moans. His hands drop to Hashirama’s shoulders, and his fingers flex, holding on too hard.

Hashirama chases him for a kiss. He doesn't comment on how much Madara is overreacting, just strokes him as Madara tries to keep still.

It's difficult; Madara can feel every day since he slept with someone.

Hashirama doesn't make it easier. He kisses Madara’s jaw, down his throat, over his chest. Some of them, he lingers on, using his teeth and sucking, and Madara is certain there will be marks later.

Hashirama kisses Madara’s chest softly, and for a moment, Madara can think. Then Hashirama licks Madara’s nipple and Madara curses.

He can feel his fingers digging into Hashirama’s shoulders. He's squeezing too hard; it must hurt. But Hashirama only smiles against his ribs.

“You don't have to keep still, you know,” Hashirama says. “It feels good, right?”

His hand stills. Madara can't help the whine that slips out.

“Does it feel good?” Hashirama asks. He draws an unsteady breath in. “You look so good, but do you like this?” He sounds uncertain as he says, “Tell me if I'm doing this right.”

“You can't really do it wrong,” Madara mutters.

“But am I doing it right?”

Madara swallows. “You don't have to be so gentle.”

“I see…”

Hashirama closes his fist tighter, and when he gives Madara a firm, upward stroke, Madara whines again.

“Closer?” Hashirama asks.

Madara nods, and Hashirama goes back to kissing his chest, dragging his teeth over the same spots he kissed earlier. Madara arches into it, torn between Hashirama’s hand and his mouth. 

He's just getting a handjob on the couch, but he feels like he did at the first dorm party he got dragged to. He'd been miserable until a guy who didn't look like Hashirama pulled Madara into someone’s empty bedroom.

Madara thought about Hashirama the whole time anyway.

“I'm so lucky,” Hashirama breathes against Madara’s neck. “How did I get so lucky?”

“You're jerking me off on my couch, Hashirama.”

“But I'm jerking you off on your couch for the first time,” Hashirama insists. “I get to see you like this. I get to touch you.”

He kisses the spot over Madara’s heart. “I get to love you.”

He says it so easily that Madara has to pull him up and kiss him. Hashirama doesn't need to be coaxed; as soon as Madara pulls on him, he shifts up.

“Don't think you love me more than I love you,” Madara tells him.

Hashirama chuckles and kisses him. “We’ll see.”

Madara kisses him, and Hashirama strokes him until Madara can only pant and dig his fingers into Hashirama’s shoulders. Hashirama murmurs praise in his ear, and Madara comes to the sound of Hashirama telling him how big Madara’s cock is and how badly Hashirama wants to blow him.

“Fuck,” Madara says as he tries to catch his breath.

Hashirama laughs softly as he gently runs a cloth over Madara's belly.

Madara doesn't ask whose shirt he used.

“Bottle,” he says instead, holding his hand out.

Hashirama takes hold of it. “Do you want me to pour?”

Madara nods.

A moment later, Hashirama obliges.

Madara does what Hashirama did earlier and runs the back of his hand down Hashirama’s chest.

Hashirama breathes in sharply as Madara closes his hand around his cock.

“You're so big,” Madara tells him, laying his free hand on Hashirama’s hip. “It's a good thing I've been using the things you found in that drawer, huh?”

“Madara,” Hashirama chokes.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you? You've thought about fucking me, haven't you, Hashirama?”

“Of course I have!”

“How about the other way?” Madara tilts his head for a kiss. “Do you only top, Hashirama?”

He’s confident in what the answer is going to be, but it still makes him hot when Hashirama moans, “No, I want you to fuck me, too.”

“You've thought about that, huh? Have you thought about it here? On my couch?”

“Not as much as on your bed.” Breathing hard, Hashirama pushes his hips into Madara’s hand. “I had to get up in the middle of the night so many times because I couldn't stop thinking about it.”

“I can fuck you there if that's what you want,” Madara promises. “You'd probably bother the neighbors, though, so you'd have to be quiet-”

Hashirama grabs Madara’s wrist and moans. It's a sound Madara’s never heard Hashirama make, but he knows what it means.

“Did you just come, Hashirama?” he asks anyway.

“It’s not like I meant to,” Hashirama says hastily. “I spent all that time touching you first, you know. You should be thankful I didn't come before you did.”

He mutters the last part, and it finally hits Madara.

He had sex with Hashirama.

Who for some reason hasn't let go of Madara’s arm.

“I can go again in a minute,” Hashirama explains before Madara can ask. “If you keep touching me a little- just a little!- I can last longer.”

“Hashirama,” Madara interrupts. “Don't expect this to be true every time, but this time, it was a turn on. We can take our time tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Unless you have somewhere else to be.”

Belatedly, it occurs to Madara that Hashirama probably does have other places to be.

Embarrassment gone, Hashirama says, “I don't! Does that mean I get to stay over?”

“Only if you stop holding my hand hostage.”

Hashirama lets go immediately.

“Can I sleep with you?”

“Where else would you sleep?” Madara asks. “I didn't finally get your attention so you could sleep on my couch. Although, knowing what I do about your feelings on my bed, I don't know if you'll actually be able to sleep.”

“I will,” Hashirama assures him. “I’ll probably fall asleep like this in a minute.”

“Please don't.”

Humming to himself, Hashirama wipes Madara off a second time. “Do you want to take a shower first?”

“I do.”

“Can I join you?”

“Only if you don't try any funny stuff. I'm tired, Hashirama.”

“No funny stuff,” Hashirama agrees.

He doesn't make Madara promise him anything, so when Madara turns off the water in the middle of the shower and makes him come a second time, he has no one to blame but himself.

⁂

With a towel around his hips and another drying his hair, Madara heads for his bedroom. Hashirama is right behind him, presumably similarly clad.

Arms wrapped around Madara’s waist as Madara leads them to his bedroom, Hashirama wonders aloud, “Didn't you once tell me you can't stand having anyone behind you? You're unusually tolerant of it now.”

“Bragging doesn't suit you,” Madara tells him. “And do you really expect me to remember everything I say?”

“You did say it when I told you I'd always have your back.”

“Another attempt at romance that backfired, huh?” Madara guesses.

Hashirama groans. “I should have known better than to suggest you couldn't take care of yourself, shouldn't I? Even if it wasn't what I meant.”

“Yes, you should have, but I can't navigate the world on my own, so perhaps I was wrong to dismiss you out of hand.”

Madara hadn't known that yet. He hadn't gone blind; his vision had only just begun to change. There was always the possibility of it stopping before blindness. He qualified for an experimental surgery, too.

He still could get it, but Madara isn’t interested in it. Unless Izuna develops Ōtsutsuki's and wants the surgery, Madara is perfectly content with his life so far.

“You were still upset about the kiss, weren't you?” Hashirama asks.

They reach the bedroom door, and Madara nods.

“Relying on someone I loved but could never have would have been intolerable.”

He opens the door, and Hashirama follows him in.

“I'll finally get to sleep next to you properly,” he says.

“Don't sound so happy,” Madara cautions. “I kick in my sleep.”

“I have cold feet,” Hashirama says cheerfully. “Although, you're so short, you probably won't notice.”

“I kick when I'm awake, too.”

Hashirama laughs, and Madara’s chest tightens with affection.

He finishes leading Hashirama to his bed then gestures for Hashirama to get in first. Hashirama does; Madara is cold without him.

The mattress squeaks under Hashirama's weight.

Madara gets in next to him.

“I'm going to need a toothbrush,” Hashirama says, making himself at home around Madara. “And my own shampoo and conditioner. Clothes, too.”

Madara rolls onto his belly. “Your own pillow.”

“My own pillow,” Hashirama agrees. “Oh, and some of my textbooks.”

“Why would you need those? Have you forgotten how to be a doctor?”

“I hope not. These would be for decoration. You definitely didn't go to medical school, so anyone who comes in will know someone else spends a lot of time here. Don't worry; I’ll put them out of the way.”

Madara shakes his head, but he likes the sound of Hashirama planning out how to make himself belong in Madara’s apartment.

“Hey, Madara,” Hashirama says. He lays his head on part of Madara’s pillow.

Madara inches closer. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I just realized I could do that.”

It's a bad habit to encourage, but Madara tilts his head, asking for a kiss.

Hashirama kisses him.

From the floor, Izanami meows mournfully.

“He sleeps with me.”

Hashirama sighs. “He's welcome up here, but he's going to have to learn to share you a little, you know.”

⁂

Madara wakes up to the sound of someone pounding on his door. He starts to sit up, but Hashirama touches his chest. 

“I’ll get it,” he says around a yawn. “Can I wear your robe?”

Part of Madara doesn't want to let Hashirama out of reach, but he's going to have to risk this not being real sooner or later. Besides, he does want to stay in bed and Hashirama is already awake.

“Yes, but don't stretch it out,” Madara warns.

Hashirama kisses Madara’s cheek and conspicuously makes no promises. “I'll be back in a minute.”

Madara hums and gives Hashirama a gentle push. “Go. I don't want my door to get kicked in.”

Hashirama kisses Madara’s cheek one more time, humming softly as he does, then pushes off the bed.

Eyelids heavy, Madara lets himself relax back into his mattress. He hasn't felt this good first thing in the morning in years, and he isn't in any hurry to finish waking up.

In the other room, he hears Hashirama open the door.

“Oh, Izuna,” Hashirama says. “Madara, it's Izuna!”

“Hashirama?” Madara’s brother asks, his voice already pitched too high. “What are you doing here? Why are you wearing my brother's robe? Where are the rest of your clothes?”

Madara counts backwards.

Three… Two… One…

“You!” Izuna shouts. “You fucked my brother? Madara? Madara, _what happened?”_

There's a short, muffled argument- Hashirama must try to stop Izuna. Then Madara hears the familiar squeak of Izuna’s most annoying sneakers on his hardwood floor.

Madara pulls the blanket up sharply just before Izuna stumbles into his bedroom.

“Why?” Izuna asks.

He sounds devastated.

Madara makes himself more comfortable. “Hashirama holds his liquor better than I do.”

“What?”

“I'd already told him I love him,” Hashirama says, materializing next to the bed. He hops up and lays his arm over Madara’s waist as he makes himself at home as the big spoon. “He just forgot because we’d been drinking.”

“So the years you've spent feeling hurt…”

“Were wasted,” Madara finished.

“I see.” Izuna goes quiet for a moment. “I guess I can go then, right?”

He sounds like he'd rather be anywhere else, and Madara doesn't blame him.

“You can. But first, Izuna?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for checking on me.”

“Tell Kagami thanks for getting the team to distract Tobirama for me,” Hashirama says. He hooks his chin over Madara’s shoulder. “If I’d had to go in last night like he was threatening, I would’ve missed this.”

He sounds delighted.

“I came by because I care about my brother, not to be your messenger, Senju,” Izuna says stiffly. “Tell him yourself.”

Hashirama sighs; Madara can feel the depression setting in.

He pats Hashirama’s hand. “Thank you, Izuna. If you see our cousin, thank him. Unless you have anything else to add, I love you but please leave.””

“Actually, yeah- don't forget you still have that pro bono client with the civil suit to prepare for.”

Madara groans. “Thank you, Izuna. I'll work from home today, but I'll talk with you tomorrow.”

“But all your stuff is at work.”

“I'll send Hashirama if I need anything.”

Hashirama sighs again. “I’m not a messenger either, you know.”

“I don’t like the looks on your faces, so I'm going to leave now,” Izuna announces. “Don't fuck up, Senju.”

“He's very defensive considering he's the reason our brothers got in the fight that started everything,” Hashirama mumbles as Izuna’s sneakers squeak away from Madara’s bedroom. “But I can't fault him for being protective of you.”

“Oh?”

Hashirama kisses Madara’s shoulder. “I want you to be happy, too.”

Madara’s breath stutters. “You're doing a good job so far.”

Hashirama pulls Madara closer and kisses the back of his neck. “I love you, too, Madara.”

Love comes simply and persistently to Hashirama. He would have gotten over Madara eventually, as he gets over everything that hurts him.

Some part of him understands that new love will find him when he lets go of the old, but here he is, head on Madara’s pillow, caught up in the same love he's been keeping for years.

Hashirama’s stubbornness is a frustrating, annoying thing, but this time, Madara is glad he held on.

Behind him, Hashirama is already asleep again, and Madara closes his eyes, content to follow him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not blind and don't have a sensitivity reader, so this is based totally on things I've read. If I got anything wrong or something is insensitive, please let me know!
> 
> You can come say hi on [tumblr](https://asotin.tumblr.com) if you'd like to!


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